In The End
by Imtellingmyfatheraboutthis
Summary: It's been 6 months since Natasha and Clint have returned from Budapest. Natasha is falling into a state of depression, alone, with no one to ask for help. Both Natasha and Clint know that it's best for both of them if they keep their distance, but occasionally, we have to do what we feel is right, not what is right. How wil everything end up for them both in the end?
1. Chapter 1

**Hi! Hope you are all doing well! Sorry this chapter's a little short, but hopefully you'll enjoy it! If you have time, I'd love it if you wrote a review, just a sentence or so, the good and the bad! Reviews make my day and help my writing improve so much! :) ~Daisy**

**Chapter 1**

I am a mess. I am a ruin, a wreck. Lost, confused, battered, helpless, hopeless, alone and defeated. I feel as though I have only just caught up with my life, I was living in my own emotionless world for so many years, almost ignorant to the devastation I'd caused. I've done such awful things, there is nothing, nothing I can do to get rid of that me. It's what I'm known for. I've gone so far in to this labyrinth of evil that there's no way I can ever find my way out. It's me, I'm a trapped child and a Minotaur all at once. A beast and a victim, eating away at myself.

It's been nearly 6 months since I left in Budapest, I've told SHEILD everything I know, so now I am useless. of course SHIELD can't trust me, but they will look after me, and I can't just go out wandering the world, I'd be shot. So no one trusts me, no one cares about me. I am so alone, as alone as I always have been. My hand trembling, I reach for another bottle on my bedside table. As I pick it up I look at the label, Vodka, it reads. I think of large old gentlemen, of a burning stomach in the cold snow. I think of St Petersburg, I think of Russia.

I release my grip of the bottle and watch it plummet towards the ground and shatter as it hits the floor, letting it spill clear liquid across the cold grey carpet. For a second, I look at the lethal smashed glass among a sea of empty bottles, then I reach onto my table, grab a bottle of gin, unscrew the top and take a swig.

Maybe my entire life caught up with me because of happiness, because when I was in Budapest there were brief moments of joy. For the first time I was happy. I now had something to compare every terrible thing I've done to: a moment where evil was no longer a part of me, an instant where I was free. The moments where I felt happy were with Clint; in Budapest there was Something-with a capital S- between us. I don't know what it was, other than brief. It could never possibly have lasted, the day after we came back he went to his next mission and when he came back a few weeks later, although neither of us said it, we both knew we should forget about whatever it was. And we did: he is Agent Barton, I Natasha, or Miss Romanoff. That's fine.

I haven't seen him even briefly for weeks anyway.

I lean back against the wall, now a messy tangle of sheets. I unscrew the bottle and gulp down some more of whatever alcohol I'm drinking, and whatever it is, it numbs the psychological pain, so it's good for me.

A knock a the door.

'Miss Romanoff?' A voice says, not coldly, but not exactly affectionately either.

It's Clint, I can recognise his voice. What exceptionally bad timing he has.

'Yes?' I reply, trying but failing to keep my voice neutral, even I can hear my voice quiver. I hear him sigh.

'Natasha. You haven't left your room in a week.'

I hear a click and see my door handle slowly turn. He must have got hold of a master key. Dickhead. Clint gradually pushes the door open and peers around the room, presumably at the desert of empty bottles.

'Natasha, are you okay?' He asks me quietly. I can tell he already knows the answer. I begin to nod my head. That's when I burst into tears.

AUTHORS NOTE: THERE YOU GO! HOPE YOU ENJOYED IT! IF YOU'VE GOT TIME A REVIEW WOULD BE SO SUPER AMAZING, EVEN JUST ONE SENTENCE! THANKS!


	2. Chapter 2

AUTHORS NOTE: Hi! Hopefully this chapter will be a bit better and longer! Really, really hope you enjoy this, if you did, or you didn't, please review, it really helps my writing and absolutely makes my day! :) ~Daisy

**Chapter 2**

Clint Barton strode through the corridors of SHEILD's temporary housing for employees buildings, where corridor after corridor was filled with identical grey and whit rooms. He walked up to Natasha Romanoff's door, with slumped shoulders and a frown of concern. Clint wanted to detach himself from Natasha, and he'd been doing a good job until now. It wasn't that he didn't like her and he was certainly attracted to her, no, it was that, in both Clint and Natasha's minds, there was no scenario where it could work and it was simply wrong. Clint had been keeping an eye on Natasha regardless and he'd noticed, days ago, that it had been a long time since she'd left her room.

He rapped on the door and paused for a few seconds,

'Miss Romanoff?' He asked in an inquisitive tone. On the other side of the door, Natasha froze, a bottle of alcohol in one hand, the other clenched, weakly because of the drink, into a fist.

'Yes?' Natasha replied, with a trembling voice, making her sadness almost palpable.

'Natasha, you haven't left your room in a week,' sighing, Clint put his master key into the lock. He twisted the door handle and gently pushed the door open. For a few seconds Clint looked around, seeing Natasha slumped against the wall by her bed. Clint saw the smashed vodka bottle, the alcohol stained carpets and empty bottles scattered on the floor. His eyes widened and his eyebrows bent down even further into a deep frown.

'Natasha, are you okay?' Clint asked, in a slightly softer tone. Little Natasha now appearing vulnerable and broken, began to nod, but instead collapsed in tears, curling herself up in the corner and sobbing quietly. She shook her head quickly and brought her legs up to her chest, hugging herself and rocking slightly.

For a moment Clint stopped, completely at loss as to what to do. Surprising even himself, Clint sat down next to Natasha and gently put his arm around her. At first Natasha flinched away from him slightly, so Clint began to take away his arm, only then realising he'd just walked into a girls room without her permission and sat on her bed. Suddenly Clint felt incredibly guilty: he'd only meant to make sure she was okay, which she wasn't. Before Clint had a chance to take his arm way, Natasha rested her head on his shoulder, so he left his arm where it was. Clint leant over slightly so he could look her in the eye.

'Oh God, Nat. What's wrong?' Clint whispered.

A pause, Natasha wiped her nose.

'I just. I don't know. I've suddenly realised what terrible things I've done. There's no way out of that and I'm useless here now. Simply a cowardly and terrible person who's done cowardly and terrible things,' Natasha spoke, her voice was going irregular from crying, and a lot more alcohol than healthy. She spoke between deep fast breaths. It was only when she paused that Clint realised he'd been gently stroking the top of her head. He decide not to stop so they remained like that, Natasha in the corner, leant on Clint's shoulder, his arm around her.

'And... I'm so alone. It wasn't until a few months ago I realised how isolated I was and how much I need a friend... But, I feel weak and vulnerable and that's way I hate most of all. I am strong, cool and calculating, intelligent. Now I'm not. But, yeah I'm okay. I'm fine.' Natasha shifted away from him slightly,' I'm good, I'll be okay now, I just, need to sleep,' Natasha finished.

After seeing the state Natasha was in, he was reluctant to leave.

'Okay, we'll... I'll just sit down here for a while,' Clint replied, gesturing towards a cushion on the other side of the room, a tricky place to get to across the lethal desert of empty bottles and smashed glass. Treading carefully so as not to stab shards of glass into his feet, Clint made his way to the other side of the room. He sat down in the corner and pulled his knees up to his chest.

On the other side of the small room, Natasha lay in her bed, with a blanket wrapped tightly around her. For a few minutes, the cautious and instinctive Black Widow of Natasha, instructed her not to trust Clint, to watch his every move. Her sharp green eyes stared in to his, unblinking. Rather than turning away, Clint returned the gaze, his steely blue eyes softer than hers, but no less innocent. The horrors they had both experienced reflected back at each other. Even as Natasha's instinctive Black Widow's glare left, she kept her eyes gazing directly into his. And so they remained like that for a few minutes that lasted infinitely. Their thoughts trailed until both reaching a single thought: Budapest. But they were not thinking of the blood and death of their experience, they were both thinking of something they had silently agreed not to mention.

Not a single word was spoken, it was as silent as Natasha's week spent in her room had been, yet this silence was one of something else entirely. For the next few minutes, their thoughts continued to meander, weaving in and out of each other, until, at the same moment they shared a thought. That thought was no. It was that all 'this' was absolutely wrong. At the same time Clint lowered his gaze and Natasha stared at the ceiling, at the the small bumps and rough edges of the ceiling, until she was quickly dragged into a deep sleep by alcohol. Although utterly intoxicated, Natasha was peaceful, for the first time in months, perhaps for the first time ever.

Clint, who did not instantly fall asleep, due to the fact he, unlike Natasha, was not plastered out of his mind, found himself watching Natasha as she slept. For a moment he looked from the other side of the room, at her gently curved forehead, the dip where her eyelids protected her eyes. Electric green, that faded into a darker mellow sea green around the edges and around the pupil, subtle woody brown flecks that's shone in the sun, eyes that were delicate, but lethal, eyes that in the hazy light of this room Clint could remember exactly. His gaze moved towards the gentle slope of her nose, covered by a light smattering of freckles. He then looked at her light pink lips, that were dry and peeling slightly, lips that he was a lot more well acquainted with than he would like to admins to anyone at SHIELD. There was the tiniest amount of saliva dribbling down Natasha's cheek and he was snoring easily from the alcohol. She was in no way immaculate of perfect, but she was real and beautiful, beautiful simply for existing.

God. This had to stop, Clint told himself. It was in no way acceptable for him to watch Natasha asleep, when she was vulnerable and unaware of his eyes. Angry with himself for several reasons, all of which were related to Natasha, Clint lay down, pushing bottles away to give himself space. He had his back to Natasha, his perfect eyesight staring at the wall just inches away from his face. He then began to think about the fact it probably wrong to go into Natasha's room without her permission and sit on her bed. He had in no way meant for it to be suggestive, he just really wanted to help Natasha. Clint tried to sleep, but his rest was snatched from him by his conflicting thoughts and problems. Many hours later, Clint slowly drifted into sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello! I hope you enjoy the latest chapter! Also your reviews make my day, if you have some time, even if it's just a sentence, I review would be incredible, good and bad! Thanks so much for reading! ~Daisy **

**Chapter 3**

Consciousness. Ouch, I was preferring sleep. I kept my eyes jammed shut, trying to work out what was going on, without actually using my eyes. So yesterday. What happened yesterday? I drank. Way too much. Oh shit. My head. Ughhhh. It felt like several thousand small people with very heavy hammers climbed right inside by brain and were banging and stomping in my head. Agh. I opened one eye at a time. After opening my left eye, I discovered the curtains were closed, so it wasn't too bright, apart from the cracks of light under the curtain, which I avoided my vision going near at all costs. Jesus fuck. My head. I felt like shit. I've had an awful lot of hangovers in my time, being Russian, also being Russian means I'm pretty good with hangovers, but. Shit. Apparently this one was pretty bloody bad. I decided to spend a few minutes in bed, to adjust to my surroundings. In reality I put my blanket over my head and fell back asleep. Around an hour later I awoke, again, knowing this time, I could give myself no excuse. I quickly opened my eyes and say upright, swinging my legs of the side of my bed. Whatever I did, I apparently did too quickly. My vision became tunnelled and I felt a hot, acidic substance forcing its way up my throat. Shit. I was about to be sick. Cursing repeatedly out loud I hurried to my toilet but before I'd made it to the bathroom, a figure appeared from the corner.

'Morning sunshine!' The figure said. It was Clint Barton. What? Why is he in my room? I felt sick coming up my throat again. I figured I should throw up first and then see why Clint Barton was in my room, rather than throw up on Clint Barton and then ask him why he was in my room. The only bit of good news was we were both fully clothed, so although I didn't know why he was in my room, I did know nothing had gone too terribly wrong.

I leant, trembling over the toilet, having just thrown up nothing but spirits from the night before. I winced at the taste of the vomit in my mouth, and quickly brushed my teeth as thoroughly as I could. Ughhh. God. Everything hurts. Now the why-is-Clint-Barton-in-my-room mission.

Oh

Oh yeah.

That'll be why Clint Barton's in my room, the bugger let himself in. I wasn't sure if I was pissed of with Clint or not. He did let himself into my room, which is as annoying as fuck, but he was pretty nice to me, which is a very rare thing from anyone. Yawning, I staggered into my room, thumped myself down on my bed and stretched my arm and back, like a cat, but I imagine an awful lot less gracefully.

'So...' I say, accompanying it with a yawn and a had-enough-of-your-shit-face, although that is simply the face I pull whenever I'm hungover. Clint literally twirled across the room, by which point I was suspicious, and then, heads for the curtains. Of course there was an evil reason behind the jollity. He threw open the curtain laughing and began talking about the lovely sunshine.

'Fuck you!' I yelled in a, what could not be described as friendly, tone. 'Its burning my head through the light your putting in my eyes!'

'Oh I know,' Clint replied gleefully.

I chose to ignore his comment.

'I have questions,' I said, glaring.

'Oh, you were so smashed you can't actually remember yesterday?' Clint replied.

'Did I ever say that?' I asked him, but I asked my questions before he could cut in' yeah okay, I can't remember... what did happen yesterday. Also, what's the time?'

Clint violently gestured at the clock on my bedside table, whilst rolling his eyes in despair.

I read the time,' shit!' It was 3 pm. 'Good thing I have nothing to do with my life!... Wait, Clint, don't you have any work?' Clint shook his head, no work, that's unlike him. If he has a few days break he normally volunteers to do extra because, like me, not doing anything makes him think more, and thinking is what gets us into dark places.

'Hm, where do I start? What happened yesterday?' Clint replies in answer to my question,' well, are you comfortable, you might be here for a while! Oh and Nat, would you like the, uh, very honest version or the slightly nicer on you version?'

'The truth, I suppose... Am I going to regret that?' Clint was already nodding his head. I climbed back into my bed, too shitty feeling to stand up any more.

'Woah there!' Clint shouts at me, even though the furthest away from someone you can be in this room is 5 metres.' No way are you going back to bed! It's you're fault for drinking to much, you shouldn't have got so pissed!'

I respond to this with an 'arghh' and flop, perhaps a bit to violently for someone who just threw up, onto my bed. I get my blanket and cocoon myself in it, hoping at least that could stop him. Clint then charges at me, in a foolish attempt to claim the blanket of me. Somehow I ended up on the floor, still desperately tugging on to my blanket. A tug of war developed between me and Clint, I reckoned I was winning, he seemed to think differently. Still holding on to the blanket I leapt onto my bed, and with one last tug I grabbed the blanket and lay back down in bed again. Clint jumped up to grab the blanket off of me, tangling my ankle and left arm in the blanket. When he wasn't looking I tied a quick, but strong knot around one of his legs and pulled him down til he collapsed onto the bed next to me, we stopped for a millisecond to catch our breath and suddenly it all became to familiar, laying next to him, he even smelt the same as he did in Budapest. I could tell Clint suddenly had the same thought. It was just a friendly, violent game, but... It both reminded us of something we were trying to forget. Quickly, Clint sat up, as I shuffled down to the other side of my bed, somehow, that is a lot less awkward for both of us.

'So... Yesterday,' I said.

' ah yes... It wasn't really that exciting actually!' Clint replied,' I came in because I know you haven't been out for a long while. And you were in here drinking yourself to oblivion. Then you had a little cry,' I started blushing'- hey why are you blushing? It's okay to cry... I cry sometimes! And you said you felt useless and lonely. Then you went to sleep for about 18 hours... and I had a nap on that cushion. That was all, don't worry!' Clint smiled at me gently, sweetly almost, for Clint's standards anyway.

I paused. Why was Clint being so kind to me out of nowhere, but it felt more than just kind, thee was a familiarity about it, as though we'd been friends for years. 'So...' I began to say, not entirely sure how to put it,' what's this about?'

Clint cocked his head slightly, as though he didn't know what I meant. I suspect he did, he just wanted me to ask him directly.

'You know, um, being kind, helping me out, er, blinding me with light and forcing me out of a hangover. Playing tug of war,' I rushed.

'Well... Neither of us are exactly good at making friends, we're not talking to people or blowing them up. And your, like, fairly depressed, like me. And we both need a friend so um, yeah? I thought we may as well have someone we can have a conversation with. So, i guess, I help you out, you do the same for me?' Clint said.

I leaned over with an outstretched hand, he did the same. We shook hands.

**Hi! Thanks so much for reading! I'd appreciate a review so much' **


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

**Author's note: Hi! Hope you're all well. Sorry it took me such a ridiculously long time to upload, I was really lazy when it came to typing it up on to my computer! Anyway, I'd absolutely love a review, it helps me with my writing so much!  
~Daisy **

After a mildly awkward morning of hangovers, tug of war and oh-wait-why-is-clint-barton-in-my-room, we chatted for a long while. You know how, sometimes, it's really hard to have a conversation with someone and to find something to talk about, but then other time you just click… We just spent hours talking about nothing, nothing at all important, just about things like people who irritated us at SHIELD and all the, according to Clint, legendary things I had missed out on.

'Wait, wait, wait… so… You've never stayed up all night watching Stars Wars, or half yelled, half sung along to the Proclaimers, or cried yourself to sleep listening to the Beatles?' He asked. I have rarely seen anyone looked so shocked, and with my job I saw a lot of shocked faces.

I shook my head. 'Well, you know, I've heard a Beatles song before and, well, I know the Star Wars theme tune and stuff… But no not really. I mean, back when, well, um, I guess I was just to er, busy, or, whatever,' I replied.

Clint hadn't really moved, his blue eyes were unblinking and his mouth appeared almost frozen into an "o".

'Well, I bet you've never listened to Alisa, or…' I paused, thinking about everything back at home or whatever it is to me now, was not something I could face doing without a bottle of alcohol.

'Or what?'

'Oh I… I just realised how shit music was back… there', I lied; I'd always known they were shit, I just didn't want to involve Clint in my deepest darkest emotions like what I did, well, yesterday. I watched Clint try to suppress a slightly victorious smile.

'Okay, I've got, like a week 'til I leave to do Mission XY&Z.' I didn't mind he couldn't tell me what the mission was, I wouldn't have told him if I had a mission either. 'In that time, I will make it my mission to get you to catch up on all the life changing things you seem to have missed out on.'

'And I'll… Introduce you to some of the shitty Eutrotrash, Russian Pop' I replied, really wanting to talk about how it music in Russia was propaganda, just like everything else in that country, but I was in the habit of keeping such thoughts to myself, until recently saying something like that would have put an end to my life.

'Deal?'

I reached across the room and grabbed a bottle of beer for each of us.

'Deal.' I replied, handing him a bottle and clinking them.

' Hey, by the way, please, don't drink too much?' Clint said.

I smiled,' Only a little'

And I only drank a little.

A few hours and many wild topics of conversation later, Clint brought up the outside world.

'I guess you haven't really been around New York much, have you? Oh you know they're moving headquarters to D.C. soon?''

'Nope… I haven't actually…too busy doing, well, not a lot other than drinking,' I replied, gesturing towards my filth covered bed, surrounded by bottles. Clint sighed and shook his head ever so slightly, 'What are we gonna do with you?'

I rushed to answer, although, unfortunately for me, truthfully, ' Well, until a couple of weeks ago, I did occasionally wash my clothes, and the sheets, and throw out the rubbish, but I guess after a while even that became too much effort…'

Clint paused and stared, pensive, at the carpet, before asking me the question I knew would come at some point, 'so… How did you actually get all of that alcohol, I assume money and honesty wasn't always involved…'

'My dear Clint,' I replied, in an only half mocking, cold tone, ' Are you accusing me of stealing? Because, firstly, I've had enough of that for a lifetime, though it was more identities I stuck to than bottles of Whisky. Secondly, I would like to express my outrage at the fact you considered I would do such a thing, although, thirdly, I wouldn't put it past me and fourthly, lets just say your corrupt little bosses pay a fair bit of money, which I, for the record, would have given to them without being paid, but since they offered…' Clint raised an eyebrow, I carried on, 'Well, I thought I may as well use the slightly manipulative skills I've picked up over the years to help me out and make the most of this, er, opportunity,' I paused, as Clint, smirking slightly, began to open his mouth, I cut in and said ' sorry I changed the subject. What were you saying about New York and the Great Outdoors?'

'I want to show you New York,' Clint replied, 'Although, I'm not the greatest person to get advice from; I'm usually away or sitting at home, not talking to anyone…How about we start of somewhere like Central Park, I go there quite a bit, at least.'

'Okay! Lets go now!' I said, jumping up and grabbing my coat. I was wearing the clothes I had worn yesterday, and slept in, and I hadn't brushed my hair for… probably weeks, but quite frankly, I didn't give a shit. Clint looked slightly bemused by my, enthusiastic, to say the least, reaction. But before he could do anything, I'd dragged Clint out of my room, he grabbed his coat of the peg on the way out, and we were gone. Well… until we got to the reception downstairs, with the crazy security systems, where it took about 10 minutes of obsessively thorough searching, before we were given permission to leave.

'So… When was the last time you went outside?' Clint asked.

'Well… does the 5 minute walk to the corner shop to buy as much booze as I could carry count or not?' I replied. Clint shook his head; it did not count.

I thought and I thought, embarrassed by the fact it was so long I had walked further than the corner shop that I had to rack my brains for an answer.

'Uh, well, um… I think quite a few months ago,' I vaguely replied, hesitating as a spoke.  
'God, I want to show you ever last inch of New York… From the reasonable small amount I've seen of it, I can tell that it's a pretty amazing place.

We walked to the nearest subway ('like proper New Yorkers, ' Clint had said with the slightest hint of sarcasm.) and arrived in Central Park Station just a few minutes later.  
It turned out that for once, the world was right about something; Central Park was a pretty amazing place.

It was a horrible time of year, a time where it was constantly grey and cold, but slightly too warm to snow, this was a time when the sun never shone, where it was never warm, but never freezing, a time when trees had no leaves and animals hid, buried under the ground.

In a comfortable silence, Clint and I wandered through the park, observing the world. I gazed at the bark that grew on the trees as ill fitting and wrinkled as the skin on an old man. The roots of the tree pushed up the path upon which we walked, causing Clint once to trip slightly, almost falling into a pond upon which ducks floated aimlessly, attempting to shelter from the cold. Clint and I walked around the pond, until he stopped, gaping in awe at a tree.

'It's perfect' He said.

He slowly began walking again, but his gaze never left the tree, until eventually he stopped again

'Okay, really, what is this perfect thing?' I asked.

"That tree,' he said,' look at that tree. It's the perfect climbing tree.'

Just a few metres away, I had also spotted a tree and whilst it may not have been the perfect climbing tree, it was definitely better than his.

'Nah man,' I replied walking to the tree, ' _this. _This is the perfect climbing tree.' I slapped the trunk( I like the noise it makes!).

Clint looked at me with what I suspect was only a half mocking look of outrage.

'No!' He yelled in a slight battle cry.

'Wanna bet?'

'Fine'

'Okay,' I said, 'whoever can get the highest in 45 seconds wins… Glory' Clint pulled a face, ' yeah, and the loser has to buy a drink for the winner,'

'But what about-' Clint began but I cut him off,

'Nope, no excuses. They're about the same height, so it'll be fair enough.'

'Okay…' he shouted, from his tree

'We counted down together, '3,2,1,GO!'

Somewhere in between 1 and go, I jumped and pulled myself on to a high branch and pulled myself off the ground. I quickly swung around the branch, stood up and looked and Clint, interestingly; he had started at exactly the same time as me… some would call it cheating, Clint and I would just call it common sense: we wanted free drinks. 5 seconds gone.

I scrambled up, as Clint, more gracefully but no more quickly than I leapt upwards. I was ahead, but by very little, I forced myself to go faster and so began to climb in a slightly more reckless manner, until the branches began to thin, I paused for a second and I as a caught my breath (I'd become very unfit in the past few months from all the drinking and not moving ), I looked up, only to realize there was no way I could possibly reach the next branch. In that millisecond, Clint had caught up and was beginning to overtake me, so I quickly shimmied up the tree trunk, until I reached the next branch, grabbing onto it, I hauled myself upright and glanced at my watch. Only 15 seconds left. Clint was now about 2 metres higher up than me. The branches on Clint's tree were still very solid, unlike the spindly branches I found myself surrounded by, he was probably, right about his tree, I realised then. But I wasn't about to admit it, especially with the ever growingly distant prospect of a free drink. I mumbled curses to myself as I climbed.

'FUCK!' I yelled. I'd put all my weight on a thin branch, I could hear creaking noises, until it cracked. I dropped. The ground, dozens of metres away, grew closer. My stomach dropped, flooding my stomach with butterflies. I thought a thousand thoughts in the tiniest moment, expecting it to be my last. I managed to fairly precariously balance myself on the branch, only 3 metres below! Clint stopped, immediately upon hearing the branch crack and turned to me, his eyes alert, they quickly turned concerned, but he carried on climbing after seeing I was fine. 5 seconds left. Clint had won.

As the final second passed, Clint let out a slightly, okay, absurdly childish roar of victory. After a good minute of Clint's yelling, all fell silent, the only noise the strong winds howling through the park, making the trees shiver and rustle, whilst the only birds stupid enough to stay in New York in winter, chirped quietly in the distance, a lonely cry for help.

From here I could see New York's jumbled skyline in every direction. The glass towers teasingly pushed their way into the low hanging clouds above as though they were pricking the clouds to test whether they would burst. I found it interesting how the weird mixture of buildings, many similar and many wildly different, seemed to fit so perfectly together, in an incredibly disorganised way, as though everything was designed to fit before hand. I supposed, sometimes, things just work themselves out.

I just sat there, on that branch for a while, watching the world, until, eventually, I climbed down to the ground. Clint had already leapt off his tree and was grinning gleefully.

'That'll be a beer for me then! Oh, and by the way, was I right or was I right?' He teased, perhaps to proud of his victory,

'Yes, okay, you win! Anyway… Trees aren't exactly my area of expertise.'

Clint rolled his eyes,' What did we say about no excuses?'

I shoved him playfully,

"Ouch, You're kinda strong!' Clint exclaimed.

'Well, yes and so are you, so find a way to deal with it!'

Clint grabbed my arm and linked arms with me, putting his hand in his coat pocket, now looped through mine.

'Right it's getting late, all the bars will be getting a bit rowdy' Clint said, 'shall we call it a day… Going home time?'

'I suppose I could just provide you with the ridiculously large selection of cheap and very alcoholic alcohol I have at home, rather than buying some more?' I replied.

Clint nodded.

As we walked out the gates of the park, our arms still linked, I paused. Clint looked at me, slightly confused.

'What?'

'Well… I just realised… I'm happy,' I said slowly, only really realizing it at that moment. I smiled, 'Thanks.'

'So am I, ' Clint said, ' I mean, I'm happy too.'

I stood there and looked at him, suddenly realizing I had a friend. I wrapped my arms around him, and pulled him into a tight hug. He did the same. His arms were safe and gentle and warm and I rested my head on his shoulder, forgetting, in that instant, everything that was going on. We stood there, for what felt like forever, wrapped in the security of each others arms.

I looked up at Clint.

'Friends?'

'Friends.' Clint replied.

**Thanks for getting through all that! I realize it was a little longer than normal… I also didn't feel very confidant about this chapter…**

**Id love a review, it helps me improve so, so much, and they really do make my day! Thanks!  
~Daisy**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**Authors note: Hi! Hope you're all well! This is a little faster than my normal ridiculously slow updating pace, thankfully, but I'm afraid its rather shorter than usual… Hopefully it means I will upload the next chapter very quickly though! I really really cannot explain how much I appreciate reviews, they help me improve so much! Thanks for always being around!  
~ Daisy **

His face was inches from mine, his cold eyes unblinkingly staring at me. It was as though his eyes tore down every barrier I had put up, protecting my secrets from him.  
'Where are you?' he yelled, so close to my face that my eardrums rattled within my head, an internal banging on the insides of my school.  
I did not move.  
I did not speak.  
I did not make a noise.  
'I said: Where are you?'  
I was in a metal box, it was dimly lit, with low ceilings and not a single window. The room was entirely bare, the only thing in it, aside from me and the man was the chair, to which I was locked.  
He began to shake, his nostrils flared, taking a deep breath, he bared his teeth and slammed his fist down onto the back of the chair. He kicked the chair, over and over again, each time harder and harder, with each kick he repeated the same words  
'I will find you.  
'I will find you.  
'I will find you.'  
The light flickered as two men materialised behind him, holding a bucket of water and a cloth. Their faces blank, they walked closer and closer. I could taste the salt of my tears and feel them flow down my face and on to my lap. Through watery eyes, I noticed the first man's teeth. They were pointy, sharp. Sharp enough to rip me to shreds.  
The largest man, put the cloth on my face.  
I let out a scream. And I did not stop. I was going to die. I was going to die. I was going to die.  
'Once I find you, I will kill you' The first man yelled into my ear as he restrained me.  
Through the dotted vision of the cloth I could see the vague outline of the man lifting the bucket of water.  
'No!'

As I screamed my eyes flashed open, and then shut again. I was panting, desperately trying to catch my breath. Why could I breathe? My face was smothered with a wet cloth. I sharply opened my eyes, to see only darkness. Breathe. I had to breathe. I could feel the wet material against my face. Stop screaming. Breathe, don't scream. Breathe. Breathe. It was only at that point I remembered. I remembered that I wasn't in that world anymore and most importantly I remembered I had a friend. I sat up slowly, to discover that in fear I had tangled myself in a duvet and the wet cloth was my pillow, damp from my tears. I let out a shaky sigh and with a trembling hand wiped the away the tears smothered on my face. Still breathing unsteadily, I brought my knees up to my face and rested my closed eyes on my knees. I rocked back and forth, back and forth. It's okay. It's going to be alright. Everything will be alright. But I lied to myself. And I knew I was lying to myself. After around an hour, my breathing still unsteady, tears still streaming down my face, I reached for the lamp, and turned it on, with some difficulty; my hand was still trembling uncontrollably. My phone lay on the bedside table. I picked it up and dialled Clints number. One ring. Two rings. I probably shouldn't have called. It was the middle of the night. Three rings. Four. Five. As I began to put the phone back on the table, Clint answered.

'Nat?' Clint asked, sounding both concerned and groggy.  
I said nothing.  
'Nat, Nat. Listen to me. It's gonna be okay, I promise. It's all gonna be okay.' For some reason, hearing him say that made it seem true. Maybe everything was going to be okay.  
'shh, don't worry about any of it... I'll just keep talking to you, okay?' Clint said, gently.

**A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I'd really truly love a review, good or bad, so thank you so, so much! :D  
~Daisy**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

******Hi! Finally updated at a reasonable speed! How unlike me! Hope you are all well(why do i always say well?)! I would absolutely adore a review, they make my day! Reviews teach me so much and always inspire me to carry on writing! thanks!  
You may have noticed(though you probably haven't!), I've made a few tiny changes to this chapter.  
~Daisy**

Due to the nature of his work, Clint Barton is a particularly light sleeper, and it therefore, did not take him long to answer the phone when Natasha Romanoff called at 4AM.

He always put his phone on to charge by his bedside table at night, so heard the phone immediately. Clint Barton was stirred from his sleep, a nightmare, infact, by the ringing of his phone. He sat bolt upright, and looked around, for a moment, slightly like a meerkat, before realising the noise was coming from his mobile. He snatched it of the table, and glanced at it, frowning slightly as he recognised Natasha's number. He mumbled something to himself about Natasha getting stoned and then arrested by the police, and then picked up the phone.

'Nat?' He asked tentatively. The phone was silent, but the line wasn't dead. When Clint listened carefully enough, he could hear the shaky breathing and sniffles of Natasha, something he had become far too familiar with. He put his head in his free hand, Natasha crying always upset Clint; there was some part of him that couldn't help but blame himself for the state she was in.

'Nat, Nat. Listen to me. It's gonna be okay, I promise. It's all gonna be okay.' He heard her breath catch for a second, but then become more slow and steady. Clint knew he was lying, but he also knew he'd do anything he could to help her.

'Shh, don't worry about any of it... I'll just keep talking to you, okay? Shh' Clint said, softly, desperate to make everything better for her.

'Okay, um, shall I tell you about… something?' Clint said desperately, trying to think of everything he would want when he was feeling vulnerable and alone. Someone. He would have wanted someone, anyone, in fact, to lie and tell him it would all fix itself.

'Well, there's one thing, I've always remembered, a memory where every detail is glued in my head forever. It was, the start of summer, when the whole novelty of warmth and sunshine is still there. One Saturday, when I was very young, my brother and I woke up very early, earlier than sunrise, in fact. I walked into my parent's room and woke them up. All wrapped up in blankets, we went and sat outside on the porch, in the semi-darkness. I lived in a small town, but there was always the presence of someone, somewhere, but not then, then it was just us together. In silence we watched the sunrise, staining the sky pink and orange and every shade in between. Sunset is beautiful, but there I find there is always something so much more beautiful about the sunrise. The optimism of it I suppose. We watched as the light blue slowly swept through, invading the darkness, bringing the light. Once the sun had risen we made sandwiches together. I liked ham and butter with the crusts cut off, but my brother refused to eat ham or butter. That always annoyed my parents. We climbed in to our little car and drove to the national park. There was still dew on the grass, and in the early morning sunlight, they reflected tiny rainbows across the ground, and made it look as thought the whole park was covered in a million tiny glittering crystals. And that day, we went for a walk, I threw a tantrum, then my mum gave me a piggy back ride to the top of the hill we were walking up. We ate our sandwiches, but mine didn't have the ham I liked. There's something about a sandwich that tastes so perfect after a long walk.' Clint told Natasha, down the phone.

In her room, Natasha was beginning to breathe properly and sniffle less, she continued to cry, but silently, so that she could hear Clint's story.

'We sat on that mountain, for hours, surrounded by not a soul other than ourselves. The hills rolled off into the distance, for as long as I could see, like giant waves, frozen part the way through their greatest descent. And we sat there, unmoving, in the countryside, free from every aspect of the world. In the early evening, we clambered back down the hill and into our car, to drive home. I watched the sun set from the little window in the back of our car.'

Clint paused. Through the phone, Natasha's quiet sniffling sounded like the phoneline cracking up and it took Clint a few seconds to realise it was her, not the signal. Natasha was still curled up on her bed, her entire body shaking, cheeks damp and sticky.

For a few minutes neither of them talked, simply lying with their phones on, silent, apart from their breathing. Natasha knew he was there, but he didn't have to say anything.

'Nat… What's wrong?' Clint asked quietly, breaking the silence a few minutes later.

A pause. Natasha wiped away the tears on her cheek, squeezing her stinging eyes tightly together as she did, making herself cry even more. After a sharp intake of breath, she finally spoke, her voice croaky and weak from the screaming and crying,' It was just a nightmare…'. Natasha suddenly realised how absurd it was, she had just woken Clint up at 4AM and cried down the phone for 20 minutes, because she had a nightmare.

'Oh god,' Natasha said,' I'm so sorry, it was only a nightmare… I really shouldn't have woken you up, it was so selfish of me…' She trailed off.

"Nat! Don't worry! I honestly don't mind. I wasn't sleeping very well anyway…' Clint replied.

'Okay, well, I'm gonna go to sleep now, um, thanks… for letting me call you in the middle of the night and stuff'

'Yeah, you're sure you'll be okay?'

'I'll be fine. Goodnight,' Natasha replied, sniffling only slightly and nodding even though Clint couldn't see her.

'Goodnight,' Clint replied.

A few minutes later Natasha was still curled up on her bed, still crying and still shaking, though not as badly as when she first woke up.

In his flat, Clint was pacing his room, restless; Natasha was very clearly not fine, and it was horrible to leave her like that. She rung him at 4AM, surely a cry for help. But it would be wrong to never leave her alone, after saying she was fine.

Chosing the selfish option, Clint put on a baggy pair of trousers and a t-shirt. He then went downstairs, grabbing his car keys along the way and got into his car.

**Hi! I really hope you enjoyed this chapter! A review would make me so, so happy, good and bad! thanks so much!  
~Daisy**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**Hi! Sorry, i realise that i was a little slow updating... School's just started D: And I've been so very close to the end for days now, but never quite there. Anyway, I'd absolutely love a review, they help me improve my writing so much, and they really, honestly do make my day!  
****~Daisy**

Clint Barton knocked on Natasha's door. This time he remained outside, speaking loudly enough for her to hear him on the other side of the door.

'Hey… I'm sorry… This is a really dickish thing to do, you said you were fine, but I know you're not… Look, its wrong of me to come in and invade your life, but I just want to help, Nat. I really do.'

A pause. Natasha was curled up unmoving on her bed. She may as well let Clint in. Desperately trying to wipe some of the wetness from her cheeks, not wanting to look as bad as she knew she did, Natasha stood up and opened the door of her room. Clint's face softened as he saw her. She had bloodshot eyes, completely red around the edges, and her face was covered in tears- her attempt to wipe them away had been in vain-, however the detail that Clint latched onto most was her arms. They were folded tightly around her body. Clint smiled at her gently and then sat down on her bed, Natasha joined him.

'I was thinking Nat, what might make you feel better? Because I know how it feels; you're not gonna get another second of sleep tonight. So I thought, maybe we could go up to the roof?' Clint paused, realising how fast he was speaking. Natasha nodded and attempted to smile, with tears still dripping down her cheeks.

He continued, slowing down,' I'm not sure if you've ever been up there… I used to go up there when I first joined SHEILD.'

'I imagine you don't particularly fancy climbing the outside of the building to get to the roof? I always used to do that!' Clint said, grabbing Natasha's hand and gently tugging her up from the bed. Natasha laughed very slightly and shook her head. She didn't have the energy to speak, and knew that hearing her voice, croaky and hoarse from crying, would just make her feel worse about herself. They walked, side by side, though not touching, through the corridors, up winding staircases and hidden shafts, until Clint pushed a final door, and they were in the open. The roof was above the 37th floor, it was entirely dark, but the city lights made it easy enough to see. Whirring engines, whizzing fans and wheezing motors surrounded them. Natasha leaped on top of one of the motors, a large metal box big enough for her to lie on. With crossed legs, she sat down and looked around. New York's skyline: a sight that never failed to amaze her. It was ever changing, yet, at the same time, so static. Those incredibly tall, mundane buildings, house thousands of people, each individuals with lives of their own. The building could hide all that; take away all that emotion and life from people.

Clint strode over to the box on which Natasha was sat, speaking up slightly, so Natasha could hear him over the noise he said, ' I mean… its not the nicest place in the world, the hum of the machines and the cars can be a little irritating and you can't see anything much of the stars and… its really cold and windy, but, well yeah…'

Realising that maybe this wasn't the best idea, Clint jumped up next to her, so that they sat side by side, immersed within New York.

'I love it here…' Natasha replied honestly, when she opened her mouth, she could taste the salt from her tears, though her crying had now began to slow.

'The thing about stars is, the less you look, the more you see.

They sat, surrounded by the flashing lights and the towering buildings of New York, until Clint broke the silence,' You're probably wondering what's in the bag,' Clint said, gesturing at the plastic bag he'd arrived at Natasha's room with,' I thought, now would be a good time to introduce you to The Beatles. He reached into the bag and pulled out a Walkman, with the disk already inside.

'The Blue Album, not the best albums: it doesn't really flow, but it has all of the hits, almost every song you need to hear-apart from a few on red. Recorded from '67 to '70, released in April '73, 3 years after they broke up. Every song reminds me of something different…' Clint said, becoming increasingly nerdy, 'anyway, would you like to listen?' He passed her a pair of headphones and put some on himself.

'It's fucking cold. Blanket?' He asked. At Natasha's nod, he grabbed the blanket out of the bag. He gave it to Natasha, who shuffled closer to him, so she could throw the blanket around both of them. Clint put his arm around her, sending the slightest of shivers down Natasha's spine. It was probably the cold, she told herself.

She rested her head on his shoulder, and he rested his head on hers.

'ready?' Clint asked.

'yup.'

Clint pressed play. The first delicate notes of Strawberry Fields Forever sounded. Natasha froze, after Clint's constant ramblings about the Beatles, it felt like a big moment in her life. Natasha soon began to tap her finger to the music, beginning to appreciate it, just as Penny Lane began to play. Clint quickly pressed pause. Natasha looked at him, slightly outraged, 'what are you doing? I was busy listening to the Beatles for the first time!' Clint decided not to tell her that her tear stained face and red stinging eyes prevented her looking quite as scary as normal.

'I just wanted to play you the ones you need to listen to, and then play the entire album!'

'okay…'

'Um, shall we go for the fool on the hill? It's actually one of the songs on the album not many love that much. It fascinates me… am I the fool on the hill sometimes? How did the fool on the hill become the fool on the hill?' Clint said, it was clearly something he'd thought about a lot. Before he could continue, Natasha had gently taken it out of his hands and pressed play, she left her hands wrapped in his. As the song ended, Natasha looked at him.

"I think we're all fools. Every human is a fool, yet the foolishness is relative to the way your society defines it…' She told Clint, 'Okay, next song… What's it gonna be?'

'Well Hey Jude is closest…I suppose there's no point saving best for last. This song is so beautiful.'

Natasha was a careful listener to music, she took in every word, the instruments and chords changes, and how they related to each other, something that made her appreciate it even more. Natasha wiped her eyes, suddenly thoughtful and reflective of everything that had happened in the past 6 months. Her breathing became shaky, as she attempted to control her tears; instead she just let them flow down her face. As the song began to fade out, she looked at Clint, through her teary eyes.

'Sorry,' he said sheepishly, noticing he'd just made her cry,' You're crying.'

He rested his hand against her face and gently wiped away the tears. Clint realised recently that he kept finding excuses to touch Natasha, and told himself he would stop.

'I'd noticed,' she replied, smiling at the arm whose hand rested on Natasha's face.

There was one line of that song that remained in her head until the day she died:' Take a sad song and make it better'. That was what Natasha had always needed; a way to turn things around. Though the sun had not yet risen, but the sky was becoming a brighter shade of blue. Eventually, the tiniest amount of the sun began to show.

'I have a particular song for this,' Clint explained.  
'Okay?'

'It's called "Here comes the sun". I thought it was appropriately timed.' Clint explained.

' That it is!' I replied. Dragging Clint with me, as we were wrapped in the same blanket, I lay down. Clint was right, there was something very different about sunrise and sunset, a certain optimism and energy and a sense of adventure. Listening to the lyrics, Natasha heard one thing repeated over and over: "It's allright, it's allright.' And maybe, she thought, here in the roof with all her hopes and dreams and the only person she cared about, just maybe, it would be allright.

Clint put on 'across the universe', followed by 'the long and winding road': peaceful music it was okay to talk over. They remained silent, appreciating the music. Natasha deep in thought, remembered Clint's story of his family; wrapped in blankets, sharing a sunrise. After a few minutes, Natasha plucked up the courage to investigate.

'The car crash was in June, wasn't it?' Natasha asked Clint tentatively about his parents death,' You were 6, yeah?' Clint nodded in reply to both of these questions. Suddenly realizing what this could mean. Natasha squeezed Clint's hand as they lay, facing the sky, side by side in the sleeping bag. 'The story you told me… were you six then?'

Clint nodded.

'so…the day you told that story, was that the same day your parents…when… the car crash?'

Clint nodded, dropping his head slightly. Natasha said nothing, but said everything, with a slightly awkward hug, due to the fact they were lying side by side. The sun rose higher and higher in the sky and they remained in silence, appreciating the beauty of the world.

'I used to come up here a lot when I first joined SHEILD… I was so young, it feels like a lifetime ago now, but I suppose it was only a few years. I always had terrible dreams; I was constantly terrified. So I used to come up here, almost every night. I was so lonely then, and lost and broken and so fucked up…' Clint paused, suddenly realising,' and… I still am. You know… I act like I know what I'm doing, but, really, I'm just as fucked up and confused as you.'

Natasha froze. She'd never really considered Clint's emotions; he was the solid, stable one. The person she relied on.

'You know, I still get nightmares… I always have, since, well, the crash. I never really have been able to make them stop, I've just taught myself to cope with it' Clint explained to Natasha, as he reached into the plastic bag.

'How much stuff have you got in there?' Natasha asked, for a reason unknown even to her, trying to find a way out of their deep conversation.

'Well… this is the last few bits' Clint replied, finding the bemused look on her face slightly amusing, 'I just popped into a shop on the way here, I know it's pretty weird, but, I always find it helps calm me down.'

Much to Natasha's surprise, he pulled out a colouring in book, filled with geometric patterns, and a set of felt tip pens.

'I cannot tell you how weird the looks I was getting were! Buying a colouring in book at 4AM!' Clint said, it suddenly striking him how bizarre it was.

Natasha laughed slightly, at the thought of Clint doing this, oh, if only people saw whom the real hawkeye was. The final song on the album, the long and winding road, came to an end. There was silence.

'So, I guess that's it?' Natasha asked.

'well, we didn't get to listen to the entire album, and I've been saving one song til the end,' Clint replied.

'Okay,' Natasha said, sitting up, forcing Clint to sit up as well. She looked around, in every direction as the sun of the early morning reflected off the shining panels of glass that New York consisted of.

'So, the last song is called Let It Be.' He pressed play.

Side by side they sat, listening to Let It Be. For a few lingering moments after the song ended, they remained there, before Natasha slid down from the box they had been sitting on, grabbing the colouring in book and pens as she did so.

'Hey, um. Thanks, so much…' She said, as she smiled at him.

'Oh, it was nothing… honestly any time, whenever, wherever' Clint replied. He jumped down and gave her a quick hug, 'Think you can find your way back?'

'yeah! …Though, it was quite a trek getting up here… does anyone else know about it?'

'nope… well, not that I know of' Clint replied as he jumped back onto the box, his dark silhouette against the pink skies. With her blonde hair blowing behind her from the wind, Natasha walked towards the door.

'Wait!' Clint yelled across the roof. He paused, for a moment to long,'… I was… um, just wondering if you, er, wanted to take this album?... I didn't get you a birthday present, and thought you might like this?' Clint rushed. Natasha hurried back to Clint, and smiled at him.

'are you sure? I mean, this is pretty important to you…'

'No, honestly. I'd love to give it to you. I'll see you later?' Clint replied, handing her the CD.

She mumbled her thanks and walked off to the door, closing it gently behind her.

For a few more hours Clint remained on the roof, deep in thought.

**Hi! Thanks so much for reading and all of you for your continued support, it's you guys that make me enjoy this so much!  
I'd really love a review! :)  
~Daisy**


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